


Claim

by PitFTW (TallyHoHoHo)



Series: Tumblr Prompt Collection [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Colonial era, Dubious Consent, M/M, Seme England, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 16:26:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2031849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TallyHoHoHo/pseuds/PitFTW
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He didn't know. He didn't understand. He wanted his independence, but knew nothing of what it meant to become a country, to corrupt himself and his people as his future took a darker turn, eventually giving way to madness. He needed to know. He needed to learn. </p><p>It was time to stake his claim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Claim

**Author's Note:**

> first time ukus in colonial era ~ Anonymous

He saw this coming.

Of course, there was nothing that he could have done to prevent this. It was only natural that he would rebel eventually. He was young, after all; young, proud, and above all, reckless. He had always known that, no matter how much he spoiled and coddled the young colony, his hold upon the other would weaken and sway. Depending on how he went about it, said hold would either strengthen… or break altogether.

He was not going to let it break this day.  
"I’m grown up now," the words hurt him, worse than that day he tasted the first drop of blood on his land. "I don’t need you, I don’t need your taxes, and I definitely don’t need your king!”

America was beautiful as he moved, all power and muscle and fury. He was like a storm ripping through a windless day; powerful and unconquerable and all around terrible. Everything, from his rolled up white shirt to his black cloth pants hugged him beautifully, showing off every curve of the muscle, every bend of his limb. It made his blood sing.

"Don’t be foolish, America," he commended his acting quite well; perhaps he ought to go back into theatre once he returned to his land. Ah, but there was a little upstart he had to deal with first, and a rebellion to quell before it gave him too much of a headache. "You’re still too young and weak to hold on your own. Perhaps wait another hundred years or so, and then come speak to me when you are ready."

"I’m ready now, England,” the colony hissed, power flooding his voice. The empire took a moment to relish his younger charge’s- really, he look no older than 18 at this moment- anger. It flowed through him and fed him, warming him up better than any ale would. “I’m ready and have been ready for decades! You can’t hold onto me like this anymore!”

"His Majesty, the King, would be disappointed in you," oh, perhaps he should add a touch more anger there. It would serve him well and make it seem more realistic. Damn, had his acting gone rusty since he last took center stage? "A rebellion such as this would not be tolerated."

"I don’t care," America snapped, too wrapped up in his own fury to truly register Arthur’s lack of it. "I don’t care what George thinks! I don’t care what anyone over there thinks! You guys go over there and make all the decisions for us, expecting me and my people to just sit back and twiddle our thumbs like nothing is happening! I’ve had enough of that, England. We’ve had enough!”

"And so you would dare to stage a rebellion in an attempt to gain representation?" England asked, a fury underlying his words that was not quite reflected in his eyes. "Without a thought on how utterly childish this call for attention is? Honestly, I thought I raised you better than that…"

"This isn’t a cry for attention, England!" his colony fumed, slamming his fists down on the mahogany wood before him. England raised an eyebrow as the wood cracked in half, a sudden shiver running down his spine as he realized just how much stronger America had become. From tossing oxen to effortlessly breaking fine tables. Now how would that strength play when all self control was lost? "This is a call for representation!"

He was so strong, so powerful. But he was also so young, so vulnerable. He didn’t know what the world was like, what war and strife and petty squabbles could do to him. He was still pure. He was still, in many ways, unsullied, unconquered.

Perhaps now it was time to change that.

It all happened in a single, fluid motion. One moment, he was sitting like a gentleman: crossed legged, straight, and tall. The next, he was on both feet, one hand pinning his colony’s arm behind his back, the other raking through those golden waves of hair. For a moment, he was a pirate again, and Lord of the Seven Seas. America, caught unawares, only had time to wriggle and cry out, before his head was slammed against the wall, the younger man pinned by England’s knee upon the small of his back.

He had been working hard. That much was obvious as America’s muscles rippled and twisted beneath his grip. England smirked wildly as he tugged on America’s hair, while giving his captured wrist a powerful squeeze. His colony let out a choked cry, his free arm going limp beside him.

"I believe it’s time you ought to know your place, boy," England murmured, his breath hot against his colony’s ear. "You are a colony. Your place is to be seen and not heard. Your representation is my kingdom itself. Where I step, you are represented. And in no way are you to talk back.” his hand moved to the stubborn cowlick atop the boy’s head and he tugged on it not too gently, eliciting a small whine from the wannabe country below him.

It had always been a strange little tick to America’s being, some sort of divine prank, this little cowlick. He had discovered its power when helping America brush his hair, just as the boy was beginning to bud and mature at the tender physical age of fourteen. The ensuing talk was, at best, awkward. They had both promised to never mention that again.

Too bad England was a pirate at the time.

He had to admit, this was more exhilarating and arousing than he had anticipated, and it was not long before England felt something growing in his breeches that he knew was most certainly not his fine pistol. To have America beneath him, squirming, a red flush slowly but surely building all the way from his face down his neck.

"You truly think that you can stand on your own?" England sneered in the other’s ear as he traced one canine down the curve of America’s ear. The younger male shivered at the touch and leaned in, as if silently begging for more. "Do you truly believe that any of us will simply let you waltz onto the world stage without a hitch? If you truly think that, you are a bigger fool than I’ve ever thought you were."

He was delicious. England couldn’t get enough of him. It wasn’t long before he moved his lips down America’s prone neck, relishing in the flush and warmth beneath his tongue. He stopped briefly to suck at an expanse of skin, not stopping until it bloomed an even brighter red than before. All the while, America continued to whine and squirm, light pants falling from his lips as he did everything he could to… to… well, there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to his actions.

The boy was unsullied and unclaimed by anyone, nation or mortal. And yet, he sought to become something more than the pure colony that he was. He was a big dreamer, just as England was once, and perhaps one day, he would end up being the heir to the world empire. He had the strength, the mind, and the spirit to be great.

But for now, he was a boy who needed to know his place.

No time seemed to pass between the time England was pinning America to the wall, to when America’s back was against the nearest unbroken table, the colony struggling weakly as England continued to tug and twirl that stray lock of hair. England’s mouth, meanwhile, all but plundered America’s body, greedily swallowing first the boy’s tongue, then his nipples and chest as the empire left a long trail of kisses, bites, and licks down his colony’s stomach. He could hear the barely held back moans and the low, almost inconspicuous whines, but he didn’t stop, couldn’t stop.

He had barely managed to free America from his shirt when he felt the other rise, obviously attempting to throw him off and potentially run away… or take over. Whatever the younger’s intentions, Arthur would not allow them; he still had too much to learn, and not enough to lose. Without a single warning, he plunged his hand down America’s pants and gave the slowly but surely hardening length a rough squeeze, his other hand roughly grabbing one nipple and twisting it. America let out a loud scream, choking himself off as his back arched and his eyes went wide, his entire body tensing like a bowstring, then going limp, his head falling back in submission.

His pants were discarded quickly enough, and it was not long until America was there, bare and glowing in the candlelight, exquisite as His Majesty’s finest crown roast. England all but leered down at the younger as he licked his lips, one hand working to free himself of his trousers while the other ran down America’s cock, gripping the length, teasing the balls, and of course, running over the slit. There was no barrier to America’s moans as the other began allowing lewd noises to tumble from his lips, his entire body flushed and arching desperately into every fleeting touch.

There was no sign, no word of consent passed between them. But the fire was there, the passion, the fleeting touches and searing kisses, in between fluttering heartbeats and deep pants. His hands were everywhere, splaying around America’s chest and dipping below his hips as he explored his colony’s body, unable to understand just how in the world he had been ignoring this gorgeous man for so long.

With every passing second, his need grew, and it was not long before he was rubbing oil upon his length, taking extra care to make sure he was nice and slick, before he inserted one finger into America’s waiting hole. His colony gasped and clenched immediately around the intrusion, his walls rippling and clenching helplessly. But soon, they began to relax, and England felt safe enough to add a second finger as he began scissoring and stretching the male below him, his other hand slowly running up and down his length as a hot, passionate kiss swallowed the other’s moans.

Once America was duly stretched, he pulled his fingers out, lining himself up with the wet, gaping hole. America whined at the loss, but soon lifted his head, blue eyes wide as saucers as he realized what was going to happen next. England saw him open his mouth, tongue dancing, drool dripping, knowing that he was ready to refuse. To beg him to stop.

But he couldn’t stop.

England did not know when he pushed in, but his next waking memory was one of hot, searing white pleasure as America’s tight walls clenched around him, drawing out a throaty scream. The younger man himself had thrown his head back, eyes idle as he let out a high-pitched whine and desperately pressed his hips forward, his hole greedily swallowing every inch of England’s cock until it was sheathed completely. England moaned, his arms turning to jelly, and it took everything he had to prevent himself from collapsing atop the tanned body before him.

He forced himself to begin moving, thrusting his hips gently at first, but only increasing in pace as time and America’s moans moved on. His hands grasped at his colony, nails digging into his hips as America desperately latched onto his neck. The other male was so tight, so hot, so very beautiful as he threw back his head, exposing his neck once again as he lost himself in the pain and pleasure rippling through his body. England allowed himself a smirk as he thrust in even harder than before, searching for the spot that would surely drive his colony insane.

It took three thrusts before he got results. America’s body tensed again, like a bowstring ready to let loose an arrow. Then, he began moving again, desperately snapping his hips to feel that pleasure again, wild with ecstasy as his body rocked with powerful spasms. England found himself just barely able to keep up with the younger man’s pace, and it was only through experience alone that he did not come then and there, from a combination of the ripple of America’s walls and the tightness of his hold. Heat pooled at the bottom of his stomach as he continued thrusting, aiming straight and true each time for the other’s prostrate.

America came with a cry. His come splattered across England’s chest, painting it a beautiful white. His lover’s walls rippled and clenched, sending entire earthquakes all along England’s body. And yet, he continued thrusting, even as America sputtered and writhe. He did this because he needed to finish. He needed to make sure that the boy was claimed.

Beaten.

Broken.

His.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is part of my Tumblr prompt fill collection! If you enjoy this, I'll happily take any other prompt suggestions on my tumblr: pitftw.tumblr.com! Thanks for reading!


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